


Time Enough

by glymr



Category: L'Oreal "Time Engraver" Commercial
Genre: Aging, Bai Yu/Zhu Yilong Character Combinations, Confusion, Gods, Guardian Adjacent, Happy Ending, M/M, Smut, Touch-Starved, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-01-04 05:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21191978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glymr/pseuds/glymr
Summary: “Who are you? Where am I?” demanded the man.“I am-” He often spoke to the people he worked on, scolding or admonishing them, praising or encouraging them. They never answered. They certainly didn’t ask anything.He didn’t know what to say.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trobadora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trobadora/gifts).

> This story is based on a commercial. If you haven't seen it already, please go [watch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9KB7a0PWVa4) the most epic 3 minute and 40 second wrinkle cream commercial you will ever see in your life. 
> 
> This story is dedicated to [Trobadora](https://trobadora.dreamwidth.org/), because she was the one to who posted about the commercial on DW, thus introducing me to it, and she was the first to request it on my [Halloween Treat Meme](https://glymr.dreamwidth.org/269660.html).
> 
> Also! This chapter was betad by the wonderful [yantantether](https://yantantether.dreamwidth.org/)!

Time sighed and picked up his third-smallest burin. “You should wear your reading glasses,” he said, deepening the crow’s feet at the corner of the man’s eyes. “Then you wouldn’t have to squint to see the computer screen.” He put down the third-smallest burin and picked up the second-smallest.

He enjoyed working on hands. They were nearly as expressive as faces. Working carefully, he added fine, tiny lines around the man’s knuckles. “That harsh soap at the station dries out your skin,” he muttered as he worked. “I know it’s important to disinfect, especially after being exposed to blood, but if you would just moisturize-” The hand turned under his own and snapped around his wrist like a trap closing. His second-smallest burin fell to the floor with a clatter.

He stared at the fingers enclosing his wrist. It was a firm pressure, not quite painful, but implacable. Most of the contact was muffled by his sleeve, except where the side of the man’s hand touched the back of Time’s hand directly, warm skin against his.

Lifting his eyes, he stared into a dark, startled gaze.

“Who are you? Where am I?” demanded the man.

“I am-” He often spoke to the people he worked on, scolding or admonishing them, praising or encouraging them. They never answered. They certainly didn’t ask anything.

He didn’t know what to say.

“I am Time,” he said at last.

“What?” The man was frowning. His eyes darted around the workroom, then came to rest steadily on Time’s face once more.

He couldn’t stop time for the man while his hand remained around his wrist. “You must let me go.”

The man’s fingers tightened. “Why?”

“You should not have awakened. I must-”

“Awakened? Did you drug me?” The man’s voice was sharp.

“No.” He tugged against the hold, but could not break it. This was ridiculous. He was a god, not a mortal to be so easily bound. Yet he could not take the man out of time as long as he was touching him. “Release me and I will return you.”

“Return me where?”

“To your home. To where you belong.”

“Not until you tell me why you brought me here.”

Well, that was very clear, at least. The pressure around his wrist was making it hard to think. The strip of skin against his was even more distracting. Time stared down at the hand keeping him bound. “I brought you here to age you.”

“To _age_ me?” The man sounded confused. Time tore his eyes from his wrist and looked into the man’s face once more.

It was overwhelming, to be looked at directly. To be _seen_.

“Is that a threat?” asked the man, brows furrowed.

“It is the truth.” Time glanced at his tools. The man followed his gaze, and his frown deepened.

“Not exactly a normal torture setup,” he muttered.

“Torture?” exclaimed Time, affronted. “Don’t blame me if you use your body too harshly.”

The man’s eyes flicked from the tools to Time’s face and back. “What, exactly, do you use those tools for?”

“I told you,” Time said. “To age you.”

“How?”

Again, Time wasn’t sure how to answer. Perhaps a demonstration? He could add one more tiny wrinkle to the crow’s feet. The man would earn it soon anyway.

The man was holding his right wrist, but Time could, and did, use either hand to work. Slowly, he picked up the very smallest of his tools with his left hand.

The man’s eyes tracked his movements. When Time moved it toward his face, he leaned back. “No.”

“You cannot escape Time,” Time said resignedly.

The man laughed harshly. “You’re not putting that anywhere near my eyes.”

“I will eventually.” Time considered, then leaned down to touch the tiny burin to the back of the man’s thumb where it gripped his right wrist. The grip tightened as the man tensed, and his other hand came up to catch Time’s left wrist. Time stilled in his grasp. His attempt to demonstrate had only made the situation worse. “You asked how I age you. If you want me to show you, you’ll need to release me.”

“So you can drive that needle right into my hand? No way.”

Where had the man gotten such ideas? “Then we are at an impasse,” said Time.

The man looked at him a little wildly. “Why did you bring me here?”

Was the man deaf? “To age you,” said Time once more.

“That makes no sense!”

Time sighed. “I’m sorry, I’ve never had to explain this to anyone before. No one’s ever woken up.”

The man tensed. “No one’s ever woken up? That sure sounds like a threat to me.”

Shaking his head, Time said, “You must sleep eventually.” Whereas he could wait forever.

There was no answer. The man was examining his face closely, eyes narrow. Without warning, he shoved Time away from him, hard. Time stumbled off his platform as the man leapt down and whirled around to face him.

It took Time a moment to realize he was free. He snapped his fingers.

The man froze mid-movement, his face contorted in a snarl as he reached for Time. With a sigh of relief, Time picked up his second-smallest burin and his very smallest burin and tucked them back into their proper places. Then he considered the man.

There was nothing to be done about the fact that he was standing rather than sitting, but at least he’d been alone when Time had pulled him into his studio. Carefully, Time waved a hand over the man’s forehead. He couldn’t erase the memory, but he could dull it, soften it, as though it had been a dream or something that had happened long ago.

With a snap of Time’s fingers, the man awoke back at the station, next to his desk. The lights were mostly off, since he’d stayed late to file his report. He blinked and looked around, frowning. After a long moment, he sat back down in his chair, staring blankly at his screen.

Time sighed with relief.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking on the form of something necessitates, to a degree, taking on the characteristics of that thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter once again betad by the wonderful [yantantether](https://yantantether.dreamwidth.org/)!

Time had taken on a human body out of curiosity, and perhaps a sense of kinship with the people upon whom he performed his art. He wasn’t truly human, of course. He had no need to sleep or eat or do any of the things he scolded others for doing, or not doing. 

Yet taking on the form of something necessitates, to a degree, taking on the characteristics of that thing. His body was human in structure, even if time could not touch it. It was subject to the subtle vagaries of life. 

Time had always been...content. He was an artist, and a skilled one, even if no one appreciated his work. The work had been sufficient unto itself. _He_ had been sufficient unto himself. 

Now he found a stirring, deep within, so faint that it was only because of how alien it was that he recognized it at all. 

Discontent. 

He kept remembering the man who had woken. The way his fingers had encircled Time’s wrist. Experimentally, he wrapped his left hand around his right wrist, gripping tightly. 

It wasn’t the same. 

He wasn’t sure why it mattered whether it was his hand or another’s. His, or the man’s. But somehow, it did. The grip of his own fingers, the touch of his own skin along the edge of his sleeve, created only the barest echo of the sensation. 

The man was a police detective. He used his body hard, staying up late following leads and staking out suspects. He ate take out while sitting in his car. Once in a while he got drunk with his colleagues, or when he couldn’t sleep. 

It was inevitable that he would be back in Time’s studio sooner rather than later. Time leaned over him, his second-smallest burin poised and ready. 

Time frowned. His hand was shaking. It had never done that before. 

Something was wrong. He stared at his hand, but it continued to tremble. 

Perhaps he had spent too long in a human shape. He considered giving up this form. Going back to what he’d been before. He glanced around at his studio, filled with the clutter of things he’d collected. It wasn’t allowed, exactly, to take things for himself. But it wasn’t disallowed, either, if the things wouldn’t be missed. A tea set from a house that was already burning. A globe from a place that had been abandoned, whose contents were beginning to crumble into dust. A telescope thrown into the trash by a petty, spoiled child who hadn’t been able to make it work. 

Clocks. Endless reminders of his purpose and his substance. 

He’d created the studio to be his workspace and filled it with bits and pieces of human lives. It was crowded with objects, a disorganized dragon’s hoard, or perhaps more accurately, a magpie’s nest. He didn’t _need_ any of the things, but he liked them. The ones he liked best were fashioned by human hands, imposing shape and beauty upon natural substance. Much as he did himself. 

Giving up his human form would mean giving up the studio and the things he’d collected. They would all go to dust eventually anyway, but he wanted to enjoy them a little longer, and as long as they were here with him, they would be preserved. Untouched by time. 

He took a deep breath and forced his hand still. It would not do to make a crooked line. Not on _this_ face. When he’d finished, he put away his tools and stood back, inspecting his handiwork. 

Time was not mortal. He was not human. But he’d taken on the shape of a human, and though he did not change or age, he was nonetheless subject to small moments of humanity. Whims. Fancies. Impulses. 

The desire to touch came over him, sudden and unexpected. Before he realized what he was doing, his fingers were brushing the back of the man’s hand. 

The man woke with a gasp, eyes going wide. He seized Time’s wrist again, and Time was startled by the thrill that surged through him at the contact. 

Then the man calmed. His grip loosened, but he did not let go. “I thought it was a dream,” he said. 

“It was,” said Time. “It was a dream. So is this.” 

The man stared at him. “My dreams never feel this real.” 

Time shrugged, careful not to dislodge the hand wrapped around his. “Perhaps they do when you’re having them.” 

“And I forget them once I wake up?” The man frowned. “Maybe.” 

Why was it that the man’s touch quelled that feeling of discontent? Time didn’t say anything else, waiting to see what the man would do. 

“You brought me here to, what. Age me?” The man’s voice took on a lightly mocking tone. 

“Yes.” Time frowned. “You drink too much alcohol. It’s bad for your liver. And you don’t sleep enough-” 

The man barked out a laugh. “What are you, my conscience?” He rolled his eyes. “If I don’t drink, I don’t sleep, it’s as simple as that. Pick one.” 

Taken aback, Time said, “I have to choose?” 

“Technically I suppose _I_ have to choose,” said the man with a grin. 

Time considered, but it was difficult. Finally he said, “I think drinking is worse. Eventually you will sleep if your body is tired enough. Perhaps if you exercised more-” 

The man laughed again, and drew his free hand down his face. “Oh yes, in my copious free time I’ll be sure to go to the gym.” 

“Your body wears out faster if you don’t treat it well,” Time said, unable to keep the note of reproach out of his voice. 

“What do you care?” The man leaned closer, meeting his eyes. It was as overwhelming as it had been the first time. “Everyone says that Time is merciless. Why would you care what happens to one man?” 

“No one’s ever...woken up before,” Time admitted, the truth spilling out. He had no practice in lying. “No one’s ever talked to me before. Or touched me.” His looked down at where the man’s fingers still rested around his wrist, almost too light to be felt through his shirt. 

The man’s eyes were sharp and curious, but they wrinkled at the corners in the beginning of a smile. “And you like that.” His fingers tightened, and lifted, drawing Time’s hand up between them. Leaning forward, the man brushed his lips across the back of Time’s hand. 

Sensation exploded through him, far too intense for such a simple touch. The prickle of the man’s facial hair, the slight roughness of his lips. All of it together ignited something in Time, a heat he’d never felt. He gasped. The feeling spread out from his hand and over the rest of him, flashing through his body. The man lifted his head and grinned, which just made it worse. 

“You do like that,” he said, and Time swallowed, yanked his hand away, and snapped his fingers. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time knew he shouldn’t be watching the man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many thanks to [SherlockianonFire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockianonFire/pseuds/SherlockianonFire), who read this and the remainder of the story and assured me it didn't suck, and also suggested a place where I needed to smooth a transition. <3 Thank you so much for helping me find the confidence to post this!
> 
> This part and the remainder of the story are for [Rana Eros](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranalore/pseuds/Rana%20Eros), who left me this inspiring prompt from Rumi: 
> 
> _the soul's dwelling_  
_in the universe's mold._
> 
> (After a bit of hunting I found the full poem in [this list](https://rumiair.home.xs4all.nl/html/pn/wesaal.htm).)

The man was in his studio again the very next week. Time sighed and forced himself to complete his work, etching fine, fine lines into the man’s fingers and around his lips. When he’d finished, he contemplated his handiwork for long minutes, studying the man’s face. The texture of the man’s lips and facial hair still echoed against the back of Time’s hand. Would it feel the same if he touched it deliberately? Before he knew it, he was stroking two fingers along the man’s cheek, feeling the odd scratchy and soft combination of his short beard. 

Quick fingers wrapped around his wrist, making his breath catch. Then they released him, slipping away like water. 

“You left me hanging last time,” said the man. 

“I’m sorry,” said Time. He looked down at his wrist regretfully. 

“Hm.” Moving slowly, the man reached out and took Time’s hand. 

For several seconds he couldn’t move or speak. It was different, the rough-smooth texture of the man’s skin, the warmth. It was nothing like the grasp around his wrist. 

“Breathe,” said the man gently, and Time sucked in a gasp of air. 

“I don’t - I don’t need to,” he said. 

“No?” The man gave his hand a little squeeze. Time shuddered. “What _do_ you need?” 

“I don’t. I don’t need anything,” he whispered. “I’m not human. I don’t eat or sleep or-” 

“Can you?” the man interrupted. 

Time blinked. “Can I what?” 

“Can you eat or sleep or…” he trailed off, his eyes crinkling at the corners again. 

“In theory, I suppose I could.” 

The man fished around in a pocket and came up with a small object wrapped in clear plastic. It looked like a drop of red glass. “Try this,” he said. 

“What is it?” 

The man let go of his hand and twisted the ends of the plastic. “It’s candy. Strawberry, I think. Open your mouth.” 

Obediently Time let his mouth fall open, and the man placed it on his tongue. 

It was all he could do not to spit it out immediately. He felt his face scrunching up and carefully removed the now-sticky candy with two fingers. “It’s - it’s -” 

“Sweet?” said the man with a laugh. 

“_Too much_!” he exclaimed. “Is that what strawberries taste like?” 

The man laughed harder. “No! No, strawberries taste nothing like that.” He wiped his eyes. “Maybe next time I can bring some strawberries for you to try.” 

The flavor lingered in his mouth. 

_Next time._ The words made him feel simultaneously warm and cold. 

* 

Time knew he shouldn’t be watching the man. He had a duty to treat each person equally, adjusting the depth and touch of his tools only based on their treatment of themselves or the circumstances of their lives. 

But he found himself peeking in on the man during the in-between times, when he’d sent one person home and before he’d begun on the next. A glance turned into minutes as he lost himself watching the man work, equally enthralled whether the man was squinting at his computer or chasing down a suspect or testifying in court. 

Time grew behind on his own work, hurrying through it with a carelessness he’d never had before. Guilt ate at him, but he couldn’t make himself stop. He would tell himself, _This is the last time, _and without even meaning to, he would find himself peering into the world again, drawn back to the man again and again and again. 

Normally the man ate take-out, but on one rare occasion, he stopped by a fruit and vegetable stand. When he picked out and purchased a basket of strawberries, Time felt his heart beating faster and pressed his hand to his chest, startled at the sensation. Waiting until the man arrived home was torture. The moment the door to his apartment swung shut, Time snapped his fingers. 

The man hardly even seemed surprised. He blinked and looked around, and when his gaze fell on Time, he snapped his own fingers and said, “_That’s_ why I wanted strawberries.” 

“You...remember?” said Time. The man’s memories of him should have been vague and dreamlike. 

“I didn’t,” said the man, putting down his bag and crouching to root through it, “But now that I’m back here, I do.” He paused and swept his eyes around the studio, across the clocks and tea sets and telescope. “You live here alone?” 

“I-” Time considered his reply. “I do my work here.” 

“And when you’re not working?” The man looked up at him, and something about seeing his face turned up like that sent a bolt of heat through Time’s torso. 

It took him a moment to remember what the man had asked, and then he didn’t stop to consider his answer. “I’m always working.” 

The man frowned. “No time off for good behavior?” 

“Good...behavior?” 

“You work all the time. Do you get to, you know. Relax? Go out and have some fun?” 

Time frowned. “Most of the things people do for fun seem fairly pointless. Not to mention hard on their bodies.” 

The man rolled his eyes, then pulled the small basket of strawberries from his bag with a flourish. “How do you know it’s pointless if you’ve never tried it?” 

That was a fair argument, Time decided. “You think I should judge for myself?” 

Standing up, the man offered him a strawberry. Time plucked it from his fingers and took a small bite. 

The flavor was strong, just as the candy had been, but in a completely different way. It was...sweet? But also sour? And the texture was very different, not smooth like the candy, but soft. 

His mouth was watering. Time swallowed, the flavor lingering on his tongue. 

“Well?” The man was watching him, bright and avid. “What do you think?” 

“I...like it. I think.” 

The man laughed and took a step forward, bringing him close. “And me?” 

Time blinked up at him. “What about you?” 

“Do you like me?” The man leaned in and brushed his lips against Time’s cheek. He felt the touch vividly, the texture of the lips, the scratch of his facial hair. Time lifted his hand and pressed it against the spot. It felt like he was burning there, like the man had branded him somehow. 

“I don’t know,” he whispered. 

“Fair enough. You don’t really know me.” The man held out his hand. Hesitantly, Time took it. “Why don’t you tell me about,” the man waved his hand around, “all this?” 

“There’s not much to tell,” said Time. The feel of the man’s hand in his was very distracting, especially when the man rubbed his thumb over the back of Time’s fingers. “I told you, this is where I do my work.” 

“Really?” The man pointed out the telescope. “What about that?” 

Time looked at the telescope and then back to the man. “What about it?” 

“Does it help you do your work?” 

“Oh.” Time looked away. “No. It was thrown away. I liked it, so I...took it. It wasn’t missed by anyone.” He took a peek at the man and watched his eyebrows go up. 

“Have you ever looked through it?” 

“Looked through it?” 

“It’s a telescope. It’s meant for stargazing. Or maybe moongazing. Have you ever actually used it?” 

“No,” admitted Time. “I just liked it.” 

“What about this chair?” the man said, tugging him further into the room. “Where did it come from?” 

“It fell off a truck when it was being transported,” Time said. “It tumbled into a ditch and was exposed to the elements. No one ever came looking for it,” he added quickly. “I watched and made sure.” 

“Have you ever sat in it?” 

“What?” 

The man shook his head and pointed at the tea set. “You said you don’t eat or drink, so I’ll bet you’ve never drunk from that.” 

“I...no.” 

“You’ve collected all these things. Have you ever used _any_ of them?” 

Time swiveled around, his eyes roaming desperately over all the precious things he’d found over the years. No, he’d never used any of them. He’d never had a reason to. They’d been beautiful things and he’d brought them here to save them, but he’d never considered doing anything with them. He’d had his work. That was enough. That should have been enough. 

“The clocks,” he gasped. “I use the clocks.” 

“For telling time?” the man said skeptically. He let his eyes drift across the clocks in the room, each showing a different time, most of them an hour apart. 

“I don’t need to, but I like them. They all show times for different parts of the world.” 

“I see.” The man’s expression became pensive. He squeezed Time’s hand. 

“Do you not like them?” Time’s throat felt close and strange at the thought. 

“I do,” the man said. “They’re beautiful. I guess I just find it a little sad.” 

“Sad?” Time frowned. “I rescued them and saved them. They’ll never decay in here. They’ll stay beautiful forever, or at least for as long as I’m here.” 

“And no one will ever use them.” 

Time stared at him. “What?” 

“No one will sit in the chair and pour tea from that tea pot and sip it out of one of those cups. No one will gaze through that telescope at the surface of the moon. Even the clocks are just for show.” He shook his head and ran his thumb along the back of Time’s hand again, scattering his thoughts. “I know some people like to put beautiful things behind glass and hide them away, but it seems a waste to me. A painting that no one looks at, a vase that never holds flowers - it’s like...” he turned in place. His face relaxed and he pointed to Time’s burins with his free hand. “Your tools,” he said. “They are meant to be handled, used. If you never used them, wouldn’t that be a waste?” 

Puzzled, Time looked from his tools to the man standing next to him. “I created the tools, just as I created this body,” he said at last. “They were not made by man.” 

“And why did you create them? Did you need them?” 

“I wanted,” Time blinked and searched for the right words. “I wanted to see what it was like, to work as a human might. A sculptor. An artist.” 

“So you don’t need the tools. You created them, but you don’t have to use them. What if you created them and then never used them? Just displayed them somewhere?” 

“They were not created to be beautiful,” Time tried to explain. 

“And yet,” the man let go of his hand and stepped up onto the platform. He did not touch the tools, but looked down at them. “They are beautiful. In color, in shape. They are lovely.” 

An odd feeling filled Time’s body, a flush of warmth and gladness. “I - thank you,” he said. 

“But wouldn’t it be a shame if you created them, but never used them?” 

“It would certainly be strange,” admitted Time. 

The man hopped off the platform and took Time’s hand once more. “Everything in here was made for a purpose,” he said, gesturing with his free hand. “Even your body, your form. You wanted to know what it was like to be a human, yet you don’t do anything that humans do. You don’t eat or sleep or _live_. You’re just like all the beautiful things you brought here, frozen in this tower. In a prison of your own making.” 

The words rang in Time’s ears. He’d never once thought of himself as a prisoner. Yet the man wasn’t wrong. He’d created a body for himself but never lived the way a human would. He might as well be a living sculpture. 

“Will you show me?” he said. 

“Show you what?” 

“I want to live. I want to eat strawberries and drink tea and I want - I want -” 

The man held his gaze. “What do you want?” 

“I want everything. I want to know what it’s like.” Desire. He’d never felt desire. Never wanted anything that he couldn’t have, in one way or another. Now he wanted everything, so much at once that he choked on the words. “I want _you_.” 

The man’s expression sharpened, his eyes flaring. He licked his lips. “You want me to touch you? To - to show you?” 

A wave of heat surged through Time’s body at the thought. “Yes.” 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was blasphemous to do this here, where he applied his craft and his art. Yet he could not stop, swept into the inexorable pull of the man’s smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where the fic earns its "E" rating. If you would prefer not to read explicit smut, you can skip straight to the next chapter.

The man glanced around. “I guess, if you never sleep, you don’t have a bed.” With a little tug, he pulled Time to sit next to him on the round platform where Time worked. It was blasphemous to do this here, where he applied his craft and his art. Yet he could not stop, swept into the inexorable pull of the man’s smile. 

“Lie back,” he whispered. Time obeyed, his eyes fixed on the man’s face. Scrambling up next to him, the man propped his head up on one arm and said, “Not the most comfortable, but I’ve done it in worse places.” 

Time frowned. The thought of the man with someone else was oddly dissatisfying. Before he could consider the feeling more deeply, though, the man was leaning forward and brushing his lips against Time’s again. 

Sparks of pleasure tingled across his lips. Time gasped and his eyes squeezed shut of their own accord. The man nuzzled at his cheek, and Time couldn’t think through the barrage of different sensations. The colder press of the tip of the man’s nose, the scratch of the beard on his cheek, the softness and heat of his lips. Time shuddered, his body moving on its own, jerking and tightening. 

“This is a hell of a dream,” the man murmured. He shifted to mouth at Time’s neck, and Time heard himself make a mewling sound that probably would have embarrassed him if he could still think. 

The man chuckled, his breath teasing across the skin of Time’s throat. “You’re so responsive,” he said. “Am I really the first person to ever touch you?” 

“Y-yes.” The word came out as a croak. The man pressed a kiss to his Adam’s apple and the hollow of his throat, and Time felt himself arching, his head falling back so he could press up into the feeling. 

Cool fingers traced along the edge of his collar. The man moved up again, kissing his earlobe. Each touch sent a shock of sensation through him, better and sweeter than the last. The man whispered in his ear, and it took long moments for the meaning of the words to register through the teasing, delicious feeling of it. “If you took your shirt off, I could get to even more skin.” 

His shirt? Time blinked and fumbled with the buttons. He’d created this self all of a piece, body and clothes together. He’d never considered separating them. After struggling for a moment he made a sound of frustration and felt the man’s fingers, warm and strong and calloused, close over his. 

“Let me,” the man breathed into his ear, then moved to undo the buttons, starting at the top and working his way down. When he’d finished, he pushed the shirt open and grinned. “No undershirt,” he said. “Does that mean no underwear either?” Time lifted his head to gaze at the man’s face, the sight of his mischievous smile directed at Time almost as overwhelming of the feel of his hands. Or so he thought, until the man placed his hands on Time’s chest and he had to close his eyes again. “I guess we’ll find out,” said the man. He kissed his way down one collarbone and up the other, then further down, his tongue flicking out to sweep over a nipple. 

Time’s body jerked again, out of his control. He became aware of another feeling, in a part of his body that the man hadn’t even touched yet, one that was still covered by the fabric of Time’s jeans. His hips stirred and lifted off the surface of the platform a little as he tried to understand the sensation, the pressure and urge building between his legs. 

His movements seemed to amuse the man, who slipped one finger beneath the button of Time’s jeans and deftly flipped it open before carefully unzipping them. 

The press of fabric and zipper had been scratchy and metallic and sharp. Time had expected the craving to abate once he was no longer constricted, but instead it grew stronger with a rush of freedom. He watched in awe as the man freed him, exposed him, his body responding in ways that Time hadn’t even realized it was capable of. 

He felt a wash of dissociation. The man was _right_. He’d been locked away inside these clothes, inside this tower, never even realizing that he’d imprisoned himself. He could leave, explore the world beyond, do _more_ than watch. He could try every type of food, go to every part of the world, experience all that humanity had to offer. His mind whirled beyond the confines of the tower, into things and places he’d only ever seen, never felt. Never touched. 

Then the man put two fingers on his foreskin and gently slid it down and back up. Time slammed back into his own body in a vertiginous rush. 

He knew the names for this part of himself - penis, cock, dick - but it had never occurred to him that it might react as a human’s would. For all that he’d seen people in the throes of passion countless times, their faces screwed into grimaces as they cried out harshly, he’d never once considered that he could do the same. He hadn’t even known that he could _want_ it, let alone that he could do it. 

His foreskin was dragged down again, an exquisite, unbearable sensation. A cry tore away from his throat, leaving it feeling raw. The man made a humming sound - Time knew from watching him that it meant the man was engaged, intrigued - and said, “I wonder if I could make you come like this? With just two fingers?” 

Time whimpered, unable to hold back the sound. The man wrapped a thumb and forefinger around him and slid them down, slow and excruciating. Though Time shouldn’t have needed to breathe, he realized he was panting and felt sweat breaking out on his skin. “Please.” The word tumbled from his lips, unbidden. 

The man didn’t stop stroking, didn’t even hesitate in the inexorable slide. “Please?” He sounded just a bit breathless himself. 

“_Please_,” said Time again, his hands scrabbling at the smooth surface of the platform, his body lifting and pushing, thrusting into the man’s grip. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking for, only that he _needed_. 

Fortunately, the man seemed to understand. He leaned over, never breaking rhythm, and kissed Time. As their lips touched, he sped up his movements just a little, then a little more. 

Time kissed him back, frantic, letting his tongue thrust into the man’s mouth at a faster pace, the pace he _wanted_. The man made an eager sound and increased his speed to match Time’s, lifting his head to look down at Time’s face. Time wanted to keep his eyes open and watch the man in turn, but he felt himself being pulled toward a precipice. His muscles tightened, his eyes screwing shut, his jaw clenching. Another sound clawed at his throat, and he _keened_ as he came to the top and down, off the edge and into a sensation so intense that nothing else seemed real. His mind and body narrowed to a single pulsing awareness, sweet and irresistible. 

The feeling let him go at last, and he sank back, blinking his eyes open in a daze. The man was still watching him, his expression fond. “Well?” he said, giving the base of Time’s cock another little squeeze and sending a wave of softer pleasure through him. “Looked like you enjoyed that.” His smile turned knowing and smug, but Time couldn’t begrudge him. 

“I did,” he said. He was strangely aware of his body in a way he never had been before, the way his shirt bunched under him, the hard, smooth, coolness of the platform under his back, the twinge in his legs and neck as he rearranged them, searching for a more comfortable position. 

The man kissed him again, unexpected but not unwelcome. It was just as wonderful as the first kiss had been. The press and slide of lips and tongue a dance he was still learning, but the process of practicing and echoing the movements was...was… 

Fun. 

His breath came out in a puff, his lips turning up and his abdomen shaking. More sounds spilled out and it took a second to identify them as laughter. 

He was laughing. 

The man’s eyes crinkled at the corner. “Something funny?” he said, and kissed the tip of Time’s nose. 

“No...I don’t know,” said Time, breathless with delight. “I don’t know why I’m laughing.” 

Understanding and tenderness filled the man’s face. “Maybe you’re laughing for joy.” 

_Joy. _This feeling of lightness couldn’t be anything else. “Yes. Yes.” 

For the first time, he reached out and pulled his lover to him, kissing his cheek, his prickly beard, his eyebrow, the shell of his ear. The man smiled at him and kissed him just as teasingly. They darted in and out, scattering kisses over each other’s skin until Time pressed forward and felt something prod against his hip. He looked down at the bulge in the other man’s pants, but it took him a moment to make the connection to what they’d done earlier. Then he reached eagerly for the button, fumbling with it in haste and inexperience. 

“I got it,” said the man. “Let me-” He undid the fastenings and shoved his jeans down, peeling off his shirt for good measure. Time gazed down at his revealed flesh and for the first time felt an eagerness not to shape or change, but simply to _touch_. 

He ran his hands over the man’s skin, cupping them over his shoulders, wrapping them around his biceps, trailing them down his fingers. He pinched his nipples, leaning down and feeling with his lips as well as his hands, smelling the man as well as feeling him. A tang of sweat, a scent of something - leather? - that reminded him of the man’s jacket. Another scent, clean and harsh, and something faintly spicy and pleasant. Time let his tongue flick out over the skin of the man’s sternum. The texture and taste filled his mouth, smooth and salty. 

“Ahh,” breathed the man. “Sweetheart.” 

Time blinked and lifted his head. An endearment? 

“I need…” The man shifted his hips, drawing attention to his erect cock, flushed and curving up toward his stomach. Time gazed at it for a moment, then reached for it. 

The man shuddered as Time closed his fingers around it. The skin was different, smoother, and the way his foreskin glided down and up was immensely satisfying. Even moreso was the sound the man made, the way he sucked in a breath of air between his teeth. _Time_ had made him do that. The man had been so calm and amused and sure of himself, yet Time had the power to make him fall apart. 

He tried to echo what the man had done to him, but the man threw his head back and said, “Tighter, please,” so Time gripped him harder. The man arched and pushed and Time tried to match the speed of his movements, to give him what he wanted. 

It was raw and primal, shoving of skin against skin. Time wasn’t sure how the man could stand being gripped so tightly, but it seemed he was enjoying it, judging by the sounds he was making. Time couldn’t decide if he wanted to focus on the man’s face or lower, where the man was sliding in and out of Time’s fist. 

All at once the man grunted and wrapped his hand over Time’s, not so much guiding him as using his hand as he wanted. Time watched avidly as the man bit his lip and grunted. Sticky heat splashed over their joined fingers. Time blinked down at it, utterly startled even with his own experience, even knowing that this would be the ultimate result. “Oh!” he said. The man’s hand still gripped his, squeezing and releasing, until finally it loosened. 

The man flopped back with a sigh and a satisfied smirk. “Thank you.” 

“I - you’re welcome,” Time said. He looked down at his hand, closing his fingers and opening them. The man snorted and dug something out of his pocket. 

“Here,” he said. He extracted a couple of tissues, then tossed the rest of the packet next to Time. Time watched as the man wiped himself off with them, carefully copying his movements. When they’d finished, the man tucked away the tissues and helped Time fasten his clothing once more, taking special care with his jeans. “Isn’t it uncomfortable without underwear?” 

“It never has been before,” Time said, though now he had to admit that he felt oddly conscious of himself. A strange lassitude was filling him, making his limbs heavy. His mouth opened of its own accord, but it wasn’t until after it was over that he realized he’d just yawned. He’d watched many, many people do the same, especially when they’d stayed up unusually late, but he’d never felt the urge to do so himself. 

The man encouraged him to lie back, though the platform was hard beneath them. But when the man slung an arm over him and arranged Time’s body against his, Time found he didn’t mind. He let his head rest against the man’s chest, the soft, steady sound of his heartbeat lulling him. His eyes closed. Opened again. Closed. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lover. He had a lover. How strange.

Time opened his eyes. They felt gummy, and he found himself blinking until he could see clearly. Beneath his cheek, the man’s chest rose and fell, his breath stirring Time’s hair. Lifting his head, Time looked down into the man’s face. 

He was asleep, his expression slack. He seemed younger like this, though Time could clearly see the crow’s feet he’d carved at the corner of the man’s eyes, the smile lines around his mouth. Though he wanted to trace his fingers over them, Time contented himself with watching his lover sleep. 

Lover. He had a lover. How strange. 

He felt a wash of warmth - joy? - and smiled. Then his brows drew together as another sensation made itself felt, an unpleasant, painful hollowness in his core. He put a hand on his midsection, but it didn’t go away. 

Sitting up further, he looked around. He was far behind in his work now. For the first time, he’d lost track of, well, time. Now that he was conscious again, he was once again aware of the exact moment. It had only been an hour, thirteen minutes and seven seconds that he’d slept. 

He’d slept. 

The hollowness made itself felt again. He shifted and felt a jab in his back and legs. Stiffly, he rose. 

Leaving his lover asleep on the platform, he climbed down and stood, stretching. For the first time, he understood the pleasure of the action, the sensation of his body being pleasantly pulled. So many new experiences awaited him. But for now, he needed to work. There was a great deal to catch up on. 

He glanced at his lover, still asleep, and decided to wait a little longer. 

His stomach twinged. He frowned. 

There was no warning. One moment, he and his lover were alone. The next, a figure in a white robe stood before him. Its face was obscured by light, its body shapeless under the fabric. It looked down at him, and Time bowed his head. 

“You have been neglecting your duties.” The voice did not echo in the small space. It was as though the walls did not exist for it. 

Time looked away. “I wanted to know what it was like.” 

“You have become too human.” The voice was neither kind nor unkind. It was merely implacable. 

A cold feeling trailed up the back of Time’s spine. “I can make up the work.” 

The figure’s cowl moved from side to side in a slow negation. “It is too late.” 

Frowning, Time said, “How can it be too late? I am Time.” 

“Yes. You are Time. You are immortal. Unchanging. You are not meant to know desire. Pain. Hunger.” 

Hunger. That must be what the feeling in his midsection was. “I only wanted to understand.” 

“You have become too human. The body you took on is now subject to mortality, to the physical demands of life. It is impossible for you to continue your work in such a state.” 

Another voice. “Can’t he work part-time? Live like a human sometimes, and do his work the rest?” Time turned to see his lover approaching them. The man came to a stop next to Time. Time suppressed the urge to reach out to him. The man stepped closer and wrapped a hand around his. 

“This is impossible,” said the figure in white. “Time cannot be both mortal and immortal. Time cannot hold the power to control the passage of hours, while simultaneously living through those hours.” 

Time’s breath came faster. He could feel that his heart was beating more rapidly as well. “Will I be punished?” 

“It is not a punishment. It is simply what must be.” The figure raised an arm and a scythe appeared in its hand. Time’s lover made a sound and stepped in front of him. 

“Please,” said the man. “Please don’t kill him.” 

Time stared. 

“It is not death. I must separate his mortal and immortal natures. He will return to being as he once was.” 

The man’s hands were clenched. “And the mortal part of him? What will happen to _him?_” 

The figure in white paused. “It will be dissolved. Do not worry, you will not remember it.” 

“It’s not an ‘it’! It’s a he!” The man’s voice was rising. “He deserves a chance to live!” 

Silence. The figure in white stood unnaturally still, as though frozen. The man fidgeted, but didn’t move. He stayed where he was, standing in front of Time and glaring at the figure in white. 

Finally, the figure in white spoke once more. “Very well.” 

“Very - very well?” Time stepped forward, standing beside the man once more. “What does that mean?” 

“You will be divided into your mortal and immortal selves. Your immortal self shall return to work. Your mortal self will be given a life.” 

Time’s eyes felt hot. He blinked and a tickling sensation ran down his cheek. His breath hitched in his throat. “Thank you,” he said. 

“Human enough to cry,” said the figure. “I have come not a moment too soon.” It lifted its scythe. 

The man turned to Time. “I’ll remember you,” he said fiercely, staring into Time’s eyes. “I’ll _remember_ you.” 

“No,” said the figure in white. “You won’t.” 

The scythe swept down. 


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life should have balance, he’d often said. Or would have said, if he’d had anyone to say it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I want to thank trobadora for introducing me to the Time Engraver in the first place. This was a tricky story to write in some ways, but I think it turned out okay. I hope you like it!

Wu Fushi glanced at the clock. It was time to get up. 

He rose, showered and dressed. Ate a carefully-measured breakfast. Walked to the small shop where he worked. 

Regular exercise and healthy eating were important. Life should have balance, he’d often said. Or would have said, if he’d had anyone to say it to. 

Unlocking the door, he turned the sign in the window to “Open” and began to fold the fabric that covered the glass cases. A breeze and a pleasant sound of bells announced a customer. Wu Fushi turned to face him, setting down the dust cover. “Welcome,” he said. 

The man was looking around at the clocks covering the walls and into the lighted case filled with watches. People usually did so, there were many interesting things to draw the eye in the small space. When the man’s gaze fell on Wu Fushi, though, it was as though nothing else existed. He stared as though he couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

Wu Fushi blinked. “Can I help you?” 

“Uh - yes.” The man fumbled a hand into the pocket of his leather jacket, never looking away from Wu Fushi. After a moment he held out something wrapped in a handkerchief. Carefully, Wu Fushi accepted the small package. He unfolded the handkerchief to reveal a beautiful pocketwatch. “It belonged to my grandfather,” said the man. “Can you fix it?” 

He extracted a pair of glasses from his pocket and examined the watch. “I believe so,” he said after a moment. 

“Wonderful! Um, that’s great.” The man gave himself a little shake and held out his hand. “Name’s Nicholas, Nicholas Yung. Please, call me ‘Nick’.” 

“Wu Fushi,” he responded, clasping the man’s hand. 

An unexpected thrill shot through him at the touch. Wu Fushi blinked and looked down at their joined hands, then back up at Nick. 

“Nice to meet you,” Nick said with a smile. He had a nice smile, thought Wu Fushi. 

Life should have balance. Wu Fushi had always envisioned a scale, each aspect of his life perfectly weighted against the other. 

Nick let go with an air of reluctance. “When should I come back to pick it up?” 

“This afternoon should be fine,” Wu Fushi said. “We’re open until five.” 

“Great. I’ll be here.” 

Wu Fushi turned to take the watch into the back. Nick’s hand shot out and wrapped around his wrist. Staring down at it, Wu Fushi felt his breath catch. 

Nick’s voice was breathless, too. “Wait - I -” 

Each item on his mental scale was balanced against the other, but for the first time, Wu Fushi had an inkling that there was something missing. That perhaps his scale wasn’t as balanced as he’d thought. What if everything in his life, from his careful diet to his planned schedule, sat on one side of the scale, pulling it down. And on the other side of the scale should be...what? 

“After you close, maybe we could have dinner?” 

Looking into Nick’s eyes, Wu Fushi said, “Yes.” 

The scale in his mind toppled over with a crash. 


End file.
